The Slingshot
by checkerboxed
Summary: Movie Based. One quiet night, a young man is determined to retrieve that which is most precious to him.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Zorro, or the movies, or the TV show. I also don't know who does. Nor do I own Great Expectations, which was written by Charles Dickens.  
**Author's Note: **A few things mentioned in here may be out of time frame. I don't know if Great Expectations had been written yet, but I'm assuming it has been and am mentioning it in here. So there.

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**The Slingshot  
-A ****Oneshot-  
****By Checkerboxed

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A young boy, fifteen or so, crept quietly along the wall. The windows along this side of the house were dark, and the sleeping occupants of the bedrooms whose windows he slipped by were silent. He was certain that his passage would not wake them. The lazy Californian wind ruffled his hair and the loose cloth of his shirt, a nice break from the heat of the night.

Joaquin De la Vega, son of Don Alejandro De la Vega and his wife, Elena, should- by anyone's standards- not have been out at night, sneaking into other people's homes. To him, he had the right. After all, anyone who stole his slingshot deserved to have their house broken into. The fact that Carmela had stolen it only after he filched her favorite book need not play into the situation. She deserved it.

Arriving at the last window along the length of the wall, he stopped. He was on the ledge outside the second floor windows, teetering precariously close to the edge. Thanking both his parents silently for their combined affinity for dangerous situations, he peeked around the window. There was no one in the room.

He vaulted over the window frame, supporting his body with one hand. Landing silently, he glanced around. The moonlight shone brightly through the window he had entered through, combining with the light from the hall outside to light the room enough for him to look for his prize.

The room was obviously feminine: a dress hung off the back of the chair, an open closet door revealed more articles of female clothing... A dream catcher hung from the bedpost; he wondered briefly where she had acquired it. Pushing the question to the back of his mind, he put himself to the task of finding his slingshot.

Pulling open a desk drawer, he found several packets of letters... no slingshot. He closed it swiftly, opening another. Empty.

He glanced around again. There were no other obvious places for it to be hidden- could she have hidden it somewhere other than here? Or maybe... destroyed it? His eyes widened in horror at the thought. It had taken him more than a month to find the perfect 'y' to create it, and another month to get completely used to its balance.

She wouldn't have destroyed it, would she?

He didn't notice that there was someone else in the room until he felt something sharp and cold press against the back of his neck. Heart pounding, he lifted his hands in a gesture to show he was unarmed. "Who are you?" he whispered, glancing around. The room wasn't the best place for an escape. He weighed his chances with the window. To make it there he'd have to run, but his momentum would throw him right off the second floor. The hall wasn't an option, as there was too much light. He'd have to take his chances with his assailant.

The knife pressed a little harder. "You'll answer my questions instead." The voice was so quiet he could not recognize the gender, but the malice was unmistakable. He nodded slowly, careful not to prick himself.

The voice went on. "Alright. If you cooperate, I won't hurt you. Make one move against me and I'll gut you. Understand?" He nodded again. "Good. Now. Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

Joaquin grinned. _She _had made a mistake. Now he knew exactly who his assailant was, because he knew exactly whose room he was in. He cleared his throat. "De la Vega. _Joaquin_ De la Vega." He turned quickly, ducking his head forward away from the knife and pushing the hand away that held it. Carmela's breath hitched in her throat, and she made to swing at him, but he gripped both her arms as tightly as he could. With a feral grin, he removed the knife and flung it so it buried itself in the window frame.

"Hola, senorita." He whispered, very much amused at her look of enrage. "I came to collect my slingshot."

She glared at him. "Well, De la Vega, that's just too bad. Because I... lost it." He knew she was lying, and she knew he knew she was lying, but he played along anyway.

"Oh, that _is_ just _too_ bad, isn't it?" He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "I guess that's what happened to your book as well. Great Expectations, wasn't it?"

She hissed in outrage. "How _dare _you!" She struggled again against his hold. He gripped her wrists tighter, pushing her up against the wall for a better hold. "Let _go of me!_" She tried to bite his hand, but he skillfully evaded it. "Let go, or I will _scream_."

"Where is my slingshot?" He demanded. With an angry sound deep in her throat, Carmela stomped on his foot. He didn't move. Instead, he pressed her harder against the wall. "Don't resist, Carmela. I'm stronger than you." The close proximity to his rival prankster sent a series of slight shivers through him. Sure, he had been this close to girls before- damn; he had slept with a few already! But something about being this close to Carmela was different. It was probably the fact that she was the only girl who had ever refused his advances.

In the soft light, he wasn't sure whether he saw a look of amusement in her eyes or not. But he did know that the way her lips were pressed together, in a rebellious frown, meant trouble. "I won't tell you." Carmela tossed her head as best she could in the close confines, and Joaquin couldn't help but be slightly amazed at the dark way the light played across the waves. "I won't tell you, and I'm going to scream."

"Sure," he replied, "But that will put us both into a very compromising position, won't it? Whomever comes will think we've been," He stopped, embarrassed. "…you know." He was very satisfied when a blush stained her cheeks. "_Exactly_."

After a moment, she glared at him again. "I'll scream anyway. They'll believe me when I tell them you were trying to sneak in and hurt me or something." Opening her mouth, she prepared to unleash what she had threatened to do. Joaquin, in a moment of quick thinking, did the first thing he could think of to shut her up. He leaned in and captured the scream on her lips with his own.

She tasted of strawberries and cream, and the feeling of her lips against his own was better than anything he had ever experienced. She shifted under him, almost pushing him away, but he pulled her back from the wall and wrapped his arms around her waist, and suddenly she was kissing him back, sweeping her tongue along his bottom lip. Her hands went up to bury themselves in his hair, and he let go of her waist with one hand to rest it on the base of her neck. He soon became so wrapped up in the kiss that it came as a surprise when she took advantage of his loose grip by pushing him away, hard, and moved toward the closet.

"You can have the slingshot back," She told him, grinning, her lips slightly swollen. She disappeared for a moment and returned, slingshot in hand. With a slight cry, he snatched for it. She let it go, and then suddenly let out a shriek.

"Get away! Somebody, help me!" He stared at her mischievous face for a quick second. Then the sound of pounding footsteps in the hall brought him to reality. He kissed her once more, quickly, a reminder of the passion a moment ago. Then he vaulted out of the window and landed on the ground a floor below.

Carmela stood at the window for a moment, slightly amused as she watched him attempt to move stealthily towards the small brown horse tethered to a tree nearby. Then she turned as her father and several servants, out of breath and rifle in hand, dashed in.

Senor Vargas stared at his daughter, framed in the light of the moon. "Carmela, what's the matter?"

She sighed. "Oh, daddy, I'm really sorry. I had a bad dream. I'm alright. Go back to bed." Turning back to the window as they left, she could barely make out the outline of a horse and rider against the moon a hill away. Was it her imagination, or did he wave the slingshot in her direction? Shaking her head, she crawled into bed, memories of the kiss still lingering on her lips. She closed her eyes, settling deeper under the covers, and fell asleep to dreams of a certain fifteen year old boy with amazing kissing skills.

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End file.
